


The King's Warrior

by MaskedPlayer



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Graphic Description, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskedPlayer/pseuds/MaskedPlayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is based on Mad King Ryan AU as well as from the Galacticraft Let’s Play part 2, where Michael and Ryan exchanged orders about killing cows to gather food. I modified it a little and sort of ran with it. My verison of Michael is in this as well, and yeah.<br/>Pairing is Myan,  if you squint, but it’s for the most part not meant to be shippy? But it sort of is.<br/>Explicit for depictions of violence and blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for comments and helpful feedback!

When Michael Jones was first discovered, one could only describe him as  _wild_. He was brought into their group by Geoff; the God of their worlds and creator of monuments and cities. Bringing forth this small, red-headed, freckled young man seemed like one of his worst ideas; besides bringing one Gavin Free down from the Heavens with him. But Michael was loyal, obedient to Geoff, if a tad…  _Loud_.

It was astonishing he had survived this long. He was literally a child of the elements; he knew only how to create torches and sticks, and with them did  _everything_. His ability to hunt for food and cook it over a fire, instead of in an oven like the rest of the civilized world, was incredible.  _He didn’t know how to live like the others did_. It was so baffling, because Michael cleaned up so nicely. His matted hair was shaved and grew back into brilliant curls, his posture more upright and took to wearing real clothes easily. But none of that could cover the fact that he simply didn’t  _know_.

His discovery of Iron would be the butt of many jests for a long time; how he’d walked right past the ore many, many times in the search for it, only to discover what he thought was some other alien metal was, in fact, iron. From then on he was on a strict learning curve, learning to create, to build, to fight with real weapons.

And he took to the weapons like a duck to water. His ability with a sword impressed even Geoff; his ability to slaughter with simply and iron sword was incredible. He quickly scaled into the higher ranks of the Hunters; and they never regretted keeping him there.

Originally, Jack had been his keeper for the longest time, until everyone was given their own separate houses. The older male helped guide him through the motions of crafting tools and using them, but really everyone took fair part in these lessons. Gavin usually attempted to help, but his words, coming out in senseless jumble, hardly helped.

So this was how Michael became Mogar; the warrior and powerful player in their games. He obeyed Geoff as his authority figure and never disrespected him. His admiration of the Commander was almost adorable; when it came to Geoff, he could do no wrong.

But then Haywood took the throne. Snatching it from Geoff with vicious, calculated precision. He was the King.

And he was Mad.

Michael listened. He obeyed. He was loyal to his leaders, even the Mad ones.

“Give me something to  _do_ , please,” Michael muttered, watching as the other Hunters worked on a complex building project under the King’s orders. Ryan turned to him after what seemed like eons of ignoring the young man; the warrior’s heart thudded loudly in his ears when he was fixed with the King’s azure gaze.

“I’ve got it,” The King said, sounding lighthearted. “There is a camp of strangers nearby; Gavin spotted them a few nights ago.” His mouth slowly spread into a grin, pink tongue darting out to flick over his lips. “Kill all of them and bring me their supplies.”

“I can do that,” Mogar said at once, eager to serve, eager to be useful. “No problem. I’ll do it now.” He picked up his scabbard and tied it firmly around his waist.

“And,” Ryan continued, a dark, terrible glint in his eye, the same glint he got when the others first discovered Edgar. “Everyone you kill, whisper my name in their ear, so they know who sent you.”

“ _Fuck,_  Ryan,” Geoff hissed nearby, sounding like all the air had been squeezed out of him. Jack uttered a tense noise as well, and a faint curse. Gavin was far too busy hunched over the plans of their build to notice, and Ray was somewhere in the mines, not present to witness.

Michael’s limbs locked up, but only marginally. “Done.” He said, tone not conveying how sick he thought the action was; his opinion didn’t matter, he just had to  _do_  it.

So he did. He pounced on the first of the group with a feral snarl, hooking one arm around their neck before he sliced it open. “The Mad King sends his regards,” He breathed, before easily taking out the others in that section of the camp.

It lasted hours, but it felt like eons. It became exhausting; Michael had never had to senselessly  _slaughter_  before, not like this. By the time he returned, the King was sitting in his throne again, the day’s build over. Michael was drenched in blood; it soaked into his clothes, it matted his hair, it made the skin on his face feel tight.

“I’ve killed… The things I’ve done,” He whispered out as he approached the throne, dropping the bags of supplies [bread, ore, tools, nothing they were short of by any means] at the King’s feet. He was trembling, caked blood on his hands cracking and flaking off when they unclenched from around the bags of loot. He kneeled before the King, blinking rapidly when his vision became watery, when his breathing became hard and tears streaked pale lines through the crimson on his cheeks.

A hand, large and warm, came down to rest on the back of his neck. Ryan’s touch was firm but warm, squeezing there. For a moment, a flash of fear tore through the warrior; the pressure didn’t stop, it was almost to the point of aching. Then it halted, and Michael could breathe again. Ryan’s thumb slid over the thumping jugular, and his smile was so potent Michael could feel it boring down at the back of his head.

“I’m proud of you, Michael.” 


End file.
